


From Fresh Waters

by Cicadaemon



Series: For the Beaufort Sea [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Multi, Mutilation, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 19:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17189006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cicadaemon/pseuds/Cicadaemon
Summary: “Doctor Goodsir!!” A voice yelled out, frantic, and unidentifiable. Harry turned to see where the voice had come from and was instead greeted by a mass of white and muscle. He realised in a fraction of a second what he was greeted by; that what he saw before him was Tuunbaq. The God Who Walks Like a Man. Grotesque and too human. It raised one claw up high. And then it swiped down.And all Harry saw was a flash of red, then nothing.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again at Ruining Harry Goodsir's Life *sounds of me dropping my laptop and someone getting their face slashed open*
> 
> But more seriously, I split up For the Beaufort Sea cause I didn't want it to be a massive thing. This is obviously where the big canon divergence actually does happen. If you haven't read part 1, please do. If you have, hi again thanks for your support!
> 
> As always, I am dyslexic and I don't have a beta. If you notice anything amiss, let me know!

It was a warm day. Uncharacteristically so for London that time of the year. The skies were even clear; barely any clouds covering the blue sky. The men took this as a sign of good luck. They were set to sail this morning and go forward with naval steamers and a transport ship all the way to Stromness, Orkney. It felt fitting the last land he’d step on would be his home country.

But first before that, they’d leave from Woolwich to Greenhithe down the River Thames. And on the morning of, he said his goodbyes.

The shipyard was filled with people, saying their goodbyes, doing their jobs in last minute preparation, or just ogling at the ships. Harry was in the first category, as he had been given a great shock the day before. He had never known his father to leave so far from home and yet.

“You bastard,” He had whispered to John, who was all smiles. “It was only supposed to be you, Joseph and Archie.”

“And Edward.” John added.

“Of course, Edward. He living here right now-“

“And Rob.”

He sighed heavily and gave John the dirtiest look he could. His brother laughed softly at this which made Harry lose his composure and laugh too.

“I am happy to have you all here to say goodbye,” He said, gently putting a hand to his brother’s arm. “But a little warning.”

“Father insisted.” John gave the hand that was touching him a quick pat. They were in flat that they were rented out for the short period of time. “Besides, it’s good for him to be here isn’t it? Out and away. For his health I mean. You know how he stresses.”

“Good to say goodbye you mean.” Harry said softly. “I’m not a fool-“

“Good for all of us, Henry.” John’s mouth tightened. “Father has mention in letters to me, he is concerned for you and so am I. I told you at Hogmanay, I don’t trust the captain nor crew. Not with your wellbeing, and besides there has been no successful-“

“Never known you to be the cynic, Dr. John Goodsir.” Harry teased. John squinted his eyes at him.

“Well, Dr. Henry D dot S dot Goodsir, I am allowed to be concerned over the well-being of my little brother _and_ best friend.”

“Best friend now? Best not tell Edward, I fear he’d get jealous.”

John shook his head then, exasperated, but with a small smile on his face. “I have all the faith in you.”

“You better.” Harry whispered then. “I am scared. Excited, but scared.”

The had stood like that for a while, before John spoke again. “It’s good to be afraid, it’ll keep you alert. I don’t think you’ll have anything to fear. Beside you wrote to me saying there’s hope that you’ll make it to the Pacific by the summer next year?”

Harry nodded. “Though, I’m not so certain. Either way, we are bound to overwinter in the Arctic.”

“Make a snowman for me.” He teased. He laughed at this.

“I’ll make it look like you, I’ll find the biggest icicle for the nose.”

“You little bugger.” John had laughed before messing his hair.

John at the shipyard was not the teasing brother he had been the day before, but solemn and tall, watching his other siblings crowd around Harry.

“Make sure you wear at least two stockings at once,” Jane had fussed. “Aunt Ann took care to make them for you, remember that. If you lose a single toe, I’ll make you suffer more.”

“I won’t” Harry whined, but she didn’t listen.

“And my scarf! Wear it. It took me ages to find such a nice indigo wool, so you better cherish it. And wear you wig too; it took me near forever to get the pattern down. If you lose a bit of your ears-“

“Jesus Christ, Janie,” Robert laughed. “Go easy on him, he’s not an idiot.”

“No, I forgot, you’re the family idiot.” She snapped at him. Robert made a noise as though to feign offence, but the smile on his face said he was enjoying this, and it appeared Jane did too.

“She right though,” Joseph chipped in, a faint smile on his lips. “Keep warm and to your daily readings.”

“To my bible, I presume?” Harry asked, with a laugh in return.

“I would hope so, but any reading-“

“And keep a steady journal.” John interrupted. “Your scientific thoughts need to be kept down proper.”

“You know I already do that.”

“Yes, well I like to remind. Make good use of my gifts to you. They’re from the bookseller back home, and there’s a map of the known Arctic in there too, that cost a lot so don’t lose it.”

Harry shook his head. The fussing was enjoyable, but he was beginning to itch. It was odd, being the centre of attention, he was more use to the light being upon John’s head rather than his own.

“You are all suffocating me.” Harry laughed. “Please I need to breath!”

“No breathing on my watch,” Robert teased as he threw an arm over him. “I shan’t see you for nearly a year and I will be going without doing my duty as a little brother and bothering you to hell-“

“-Language.” Joseph interrupted, but was ignored

“-I must get in all that missed teasing now rather than later.” Robert’s voice had gone soft there and Harry felt his heart melt.

“I don’t see Archie being terrible to me?” He said as he looped his arm around Robert’s waist. When he looked to his youngest brother, the boy blushed.

“I suppose you’ll be looking more a man when I get back.” Harry added. “All that baby fat finally gone?”

Archie shrugged. He still clung to youthfulness even though he was close to be 19 years old. Harry didn’t look too much like John, or Joseph or really like his father in any way besides his nose and colouring. It was Archie and him that shared the same soft face and unruly curls their mother had given them. Same green eyes. He wondered if by the time he got back, if maybe Archie would look as identical to him as Robert sometimes was to John?

“When you come back,” Archie had said softly. “You’ll keep your promise?”

“Ill make sure I have a story to tell.” Harry said unhooking himself now from Robert. “Now come here and give me a hug. I’m going to miss you and don’t muck up your new job. That conservator position gave me many migraines and if you undo any work I’ve done, I’ll kill you.”

“You wouldn’t.” Archie said as he entered his embrace. “You love me too much to do so.”

He held onto his brother and tried to commit to memory how it felt to hold him. “You know me well.”

“I want a hug from you too,” Jane said when the two of them broke away. “I’m going to miss you too.”

Before Harry could move forward, he felt arms around his throat. “And a hug from me first, because you can’t be saying nice things to Archie without saying them to me too.” Robert’s voice was right close to his ear.

“Bastard, you’re choking me!”

“Any of you going to watch your language?” Joseph scoffed, to which John laughed at.

“Drop it for a day.” He said to Joseph. “We’ll have plenty time to scold when he gets back.”

Up until then, their father had remained silent. Once Harry had untangled himself from Robert and gave Jane a peck on the cheek while promising he’d wear her scarf till it fell apart (which she promised it wouldn’t cause she was a good knitter), John Sr spoke up.

“As much as I’d like you to come home with a story,” He said firmly. “I’d rather you come home safe and with nothing to offer.”

“I think with what scientific research I’ll be doing, I should have something interesting to say to you all.” Harry promised. His father shook his head.

“What I mean Henry is to stay out of trouble. Keep to your job and uphold the expectations of your profession. Do not sully our name and for heaven’s sake please-“

“Father,” He said softly. “I promise I’ll do you proud.”

He watched as tears appeared in his father’s eyes, “You always do me proud. Even when I don’t say it, you do me proud.”

Harry had hugged his father than, trying to fight away his own tears. When he broke away, his father had smiled to him, something he had written down in his journal that night.

It had been the last time he had seen his family, and as Erebus followed down the Thames, he tried to spot them out in the crowd of people who had congregated, while also trying to remain in line as not to evoke the wrath of superior officers. By the way other men broke rank to wave, Harry had stepped forward and onto his tippy toes to see. It was when he saw Jane lifted to wave, so close to waterfront, with Robert being the one to do the lifting did he wave back. He lifted his hat off and waved it strong and laughed when he saw John steal the hat off of Joseph to do the same. Stanley had made a comment about it later that night, but he hadn’t cared then, and he hadn’t cared 3 years later. That last image of them gave him strength even as the world burned and froze.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should suppose himself lucky.
> 
> He didn’t.

His mouth tasted like cotton. Maybe not cotton, but close. His mind was clear enough think how weird it was, for something to taste so close to something, but for it not to be quite right. His mouth was closed, so it isn’t the fact that he fell asleep with his mouth open again. He knew he snored when he did that; Silna had shoved fingers into his mouth the one time he was snoring so loud. The memory is soothing, and fuzzy; it was like cotton too. He tried turning his head, but there is a pain there, so he stopped.

He feels as though his head has been shoved under something soft and absorbent; a thousand blankets maybe or cotton again. Everything was muffled, and his body refused to move even if he tried his hardest to do. Trying his hardest was nothing though; that would be assuming he has any energy in his limbs.

He heard someone move, crunching rocks being the cue of the assumed. He was still not sure however, everything felt so unreal that his senses don’t feel connected at all.

He falls back asleep.

-

The day was sunny, though a chill hangs in the air. This was proper weather for March. Harry could hear his brother, Robert, in the background yelling about something, but he doesn’t pay attention. Instead he sits on the sand, not minding that his pants are getting damp, and thinks about what it’d feel like to drown.

It’s not because he is thinking about walking into the Firth before him and letting himself drown. Harry was very fond of living and wasn’t ready to give it up just yet, but rather a thought that led to a network of other little thoughts that turned morbid fast. So, he was wondering what drowning felt like, cause he was curious and unable to stop himself. He'd imagine it would be the worst kind of death.

“Pardon my language.” It’s Jane. Her voice is so distinct and familiar to him, he’d be able to spot out her clearing her throat if that was all that would be given to him. He turns around enough to see her walking up to him. “If you keep sitting on there, you’re going to get sand all over your arse.”

He gasped, faking offence. “Janie Ross, what would happen if Joseph heard you speaking like that.”

“You say that as though I care what Joseph thinks or does.”

He laughs at that, and thinks about how he loves his sister so much. Barely two years older than him, some days it feel more as though she is his twin. Though for all the love he has for her, he would not hesitate to throw her under a carriage at a moment's notice. It is the odd relationship that only one has with a closely aged sibling. Burning love and loyalty, but also not being afraid to be cruel and terrible. He’d never get away with her though, she was far more powerful then him.

She sits down next to him, fanning out the skirt of her dress so she would not sit on it.

“Robert threw some weeds at John.” She says absently mindedly. She flicks of some grains of sand that somehow got onto her dress.

“Well, did John deserve it?”

“Hard to say. Robert doesn’t have the best sense of judgment. The designated family fool it would seem.” Jane gives him a sly smile at that, and it’s enough to make Harry shift.

“Why does it feel like you’re about to say I’m coming in close second?”

She laughs and shakes her head. He enjoys seeing the little dimple on her face. “Only a fool who has no experience on a ship would sail into the Arctic.”

He does not hide his groan at this. “Jane-”

“Don’t try disagreeing with me, Henry.” He makes a face at his formal name. “You’re risking a lot. I’m not a fool, not in the least and I understand how dangerous the Arctic is! It is one of the least explored places in the world. Believe it or not, but that scares me.”

“Jane.” He speaks softly, forcing his gaze to her eyes. “This is my last day home, I won’t be back for about a year. Can we not do this and let me leave feeling bitter?”

That fierceness in her face is gone and replaced with something soft and sad.

“I worry constantly about you. I promised mama-”

“Well mama isn’t here and I’m not a child.” He hates this expression. Jane was supposed to be the strong-headed, but steady one. Any sort of sad expression was not allowed. “Will it make you feel better if I promise to stay out of trouble. You know I’m a coward.”

He gets a little chuckle out of her. “There’s a difference between being a coward and being smart. Harry, you can’t promise anything, but I appreciate it.”

He wants to say more, but Robert interrupts, running between the two of them and oddly enough without his shoes on. Harry just stares at his brother, wondering what the hell just happened, when it all makes sense with a very angry John chasing after him. He’s covered in sand and yelling so passionately he has slipped thickly into his native accent, that fake English accent no longer there.

He is quickly able to gather they had both gone to far in throwing things at each other, and by the way Robert is red from heavy laugh, one party is without regrets.

He can feel something tight in his chest, an abundance of emotions he is unsure how to express. But he is happy.

Incredibly happy.

-

He is brought out of sleep by the worse pain he has ever experienced in his life. Harry had dealt with a root canal, slicing his hand open during sledging, fighting with an eagle, and various other stupid ways to hurt oneself, but this is beyond anything. It is white and electrifying, blinding him and rendering him incapable of sound.

And it’s right on his face.

Someone speaks, but he is not in the mind to make it out. There are steady hands on him, holding him down. He must have tried moving, but he is unaware of any bodily function. He is beyond that capability now. The pain goes on forever and doesn’t end.

He passes out.

-

His dream is feverish and wrong, leaving him with nothing, but a sense of dread. When thinking back on it, he would be able to say he was back in that shallow strait again, but the ice melted and the water up to his ankles. His attire was that similar to what he wore when he had to do dredging or fishing. His is bootless and the water is cold on his flesh. In the shallow, his stomach drops seeing decapitated fingers. They float around his feet, and when they brush against him, he tries to move to run, but is unable.

Waking up is not a blessing, however. His face is still burning, and he feels terrible. He’s wet with sweat, and he can feel how weak he is without even moving. This isn’t like when he was sick and feverish so many months ago, with Silna to worry over him.

This is something worse.

Harry can move his head around a little, his movement limited, but it’s something. The left side of his face is heavily bandaged and feels tight. He doesn’t dare touch it, fearing any pressure would make it hurt again. He is able to figure out quickly he’s back in the medical tent, his tent. He was held hostage here. The stupid part of him wants to get up and run. The reasonable part wants to go back to sleep.

Someone enters the tent then, their footsteps heavy, but seemingly unaware of the fact that Harry is awake. They seem to peruse around where his table is, but he’s suddenly too tired to turn his head and look. Eventually though, and he knows by the way the person’s breathing changes, they notice him. They leave the tent and then some more footsteps return.

“How do you feel doctor?” He’s squeezed his eyes shut again, the light was hurting his head. He knows that voice though, brogue and all.

He doesn’t have the strength to tell Crozier he hurts in a way that only the devil could deal out, but instead shakes his head a little. He realises quickly he has no voice, his throat so dry and unused that speech seems near impossible. He is able to bring his hand to his throat, touching it softly, and feeling cuts there.

Crozier calls to the man with him to grab him water, and when the man does return with it, Harry is helped in drinking. He nearly chokes on it, and the Captain’s hand supporting his head up is causing him pain. He must have fallen. He cracks his eyes open just a little when he is helped down onto the pillow.

“What happened.” His voice doesn’t sound like his voice; it’s hoarse and wrong. This makes him panic a little.

“What do you remember?” Crozier’s expression is soft and caring, which puts him at ease somewhat. That question is a good one. What does he remember? He could remember the sledging, Hickey losing it, Hickey not actually being Hickey, and Pilkington’s screams as he died.

“Tuunbaq.” He remembers it all so well now. He faced it, and he had frozen with fear. How in the hell did he survive that? “What happened?”

“It’s dead.” The tone is reassuring, but that someone how makes his stomach dropped. “It choked, and we were able to strangle it some more. It’s only Hodgson, and Tozer now.”

Harry turns enough to see the Lieutenant, a smile on his face but eyebrows knitted with worry.

“Good to see you again.” He croaks out.

“It’s good to see you awake.” Hodgson responds, and he sounds genuine. Harry smiles back, but pain comes back into his face. He suddenly is sweating again, and clenches his teeth in response to the pain, but that makes it worse. His eyes are squeezed tight so hard he is seeing flashes of red.

Crozier’s hands are on him, grounding him to reality, but it doesn’t help in the long term. He feels like he is riding the pain out for eons. Eventually it fades away, leaving him dizzy and out of breath.

“The creature.” Crozier says softly. “It got you pretty bad.”

“I couldn’t tell.” He says with clenched teeth, afraid to relax his mouth. “How bad?”

Crozier seems uncomfortable now, or maybe unsure on how to answer. This doesn’t comfort him in the slightest. It actually makes him feel completely antsy, and that panic is rising back up in him.

“You were bleeding bad.” He finally says. “We were able to put cloth to your face to stop the bleeding and get you back here to do something proper. Tozer knew how to stitch, so he was able to close them up. I’m so sorry doctor, but it doesn’t look good. It got a good swipe at your face.”

Empty shock. How does one respond to that? It didn’t feel real, not in the slightest. His jaw has finally relaxed, but everything else has gone soft as well. He feels numb. There are no words left.

Crozier tries getting his attention again, but Harry is completely void of anything. Eventually he turns to Hodgson and says that it would be best to leave him in peace, and in any other case he’d feel maybe joy at that, there is still nothing. He’s not even afraid of this apathy.

He stares at the tent ceiling till his eyes are too heavy to keep open any longer.

-

With help from Hodgson, he is able to sit up somewhat. The man is telling him, that he wasn’t out for too long and that really barely even twelve hours have passed since the attack.

“Remarkable you are even cognitive.” Hodgson tells him as he helps him drink down the watery soup. “You lost so much blood we were afraid you’d die before we even got back to the camp.”

He feels better than he did before, but the shock is still there. He was maimed. No longer whole. A bit of an ear he could live without, just keep his curls long and no one would be the wiser, but this he couldn’t hide. The wrapping was done cleverly, his eyes was still visible as to not impair him further, but everything else was wound tight.

He should have gotten that before that he had been hurt so deeply, but his mind then wasn’t clear enough to really pick up on it. Even now, there was still that fog over him.

He doesn’t respond to Hodgson and instead sips away slowly. He hates being helped fed, but there was no way he’d be able to hold the tin to his mouth without dropping the damned thing. Still, instinctively he had a hand under it even though Hodgson was in control.

Eating is a slow and hard business. If he moves his face too much, the pain becomes to great; even eating carefully is causing him a great deal of discomfort. The claws had gotten a bit of his neck but was only deep enough to do the barest in damage. He should suppose himself lucky.

He didn’t.

Harry was feeling feverish now, unlike from before. This was expected. He had gotten the wound dirty, and though he was sure the stitching was done well, he was unsure as to how well Tozer had cleaned up the wound. A dirty wound almost always led to a fever. And he hadn’t been in the best of health before.

He falls asleep again when Hodgson is done feeding him. It’s as he is falling asleep, he realises his feet were being propped up by a spar blanket, and that makes him laugh a little. He felt better knowing he was in more capable hands.

Dreaming is still no escape. Between a void, he is hit with vivid nightmares and other things that make no sense. He wakes a little but is quick to sleep again. This feels to go on forever, but no time seems to pass when he is jostled from sleep.

“The Captain was right.” It’s Hodgson. “It’s Lt. Little. He has men with him.”

“Thank god.” He mumbles. He was so tired that the significance of this was lost on him. Still, that seemed the appropriate response.

“You needn’t worry Doctor, you won’t be expected to walk. We’ll get you back with minimal effort on your part.”

He nodded at that, falling back asleep again. Hodgson jostled him awake again. “Please stay awake. Minimal effort still means we will need your cooperation.”

Getting up was harder than it was to eat. If lying down he felt weak, standing up he felt boneless. Another man came into the tent to help him, but Harry was near passing out that nothing made sense. He couldn’t make out the face even when he stared intently. With both arms over Hodgson (he assumed he became very unsure of himself the more his thoughts began to fog) and this mystery man’s shoulder and was helped to step forward.

Each step sent pains shooting through him, like pins-and-needles but more intense. It was hard for him to really grasp the pain he was experiencing, but all he knew was that he could not contain the little moans of pain with each step.

He had blacked out at one moment, going slump, only to wake up on some sort of sledge completely confused and burning.

“The camp isn’t far, if we keep a steady pace we should be back by the time supper begins.” He could hear someone say. The way this person spoke, Harry could almost pinpoint who it was, but he was drawing a blank. It was frustrating to not know anything, and yet be so close to what he felt was the truth.

“A steady pace maybe too much.” Why was it so comforting hearing Crozier’s voice? Maybe it was that the Irish brogue sounded so close to the Scottish burr he had grown up with, that he had work diligently to get rid of. Either way, hearing him talk was so relaxing. “Goodsir isn’t the only one in terrible shape. Send Mr. Watson and Mr. Bell back ahead with Pvt. Hammond and the rest of us will go forward, but first we need to take a look around the camp. Get anything we may need.”

He heard the man that Crozier was talking to call to William Bell and Thomas Watson; through the fog he finally realises that this is Le Vesconte. For a moment he feels clear, and with it he remembers something.

“In my tent,” Harry tries to speak as loud as he can, but it’s nothing and his throat hurts. Still, he grabs the attention of them. “My tent there’s a journal. Long stitch binding. It has a closure of waxed leather. Please that’s all I need.”

His journal. Everything in that, everything he owed to Archie. That journal was something he needed more than anything, and he felt himself panic at the thought of losing it. This must have been evident as Crozier was quick to kneel down to him, though he did winch in pain as he did so.

“We’ll get it for you don’t worry.” He spoke softly.

“Please, my brother got that from the bookseller in town.”

“Don’t worry any. We will sort through things and make sure it gets to you. Rest easy now Dr. Goodsir, you can sleep now.”

“I promised Archie. I need it in my hands.”

Archie would be disappointed if he didn’t have a story with him. And how John would be upset if he lost that book, it had thick paper and the leather must have costed so much. Harry couldn’t keep himself from sobbing realising suddenly how disappointed his family would be in him, he’d gone against everything he’d promised. He got into trouble, he ruined his name, he didn’t make his father proud. He ruined himself. He was no longer anything.

There was now a hand to his head, petting his hair. The hand barely comforted the turmoil within him, but the tears came to a stop. He looked up to Crozier, his eyes out of focus with the tears lingering. He got a sympathetic smile, which turned to an expression of concern when that hand went to his forehead.

“He’s burning up. We’ll need a wetted rag.”

Harry hated being fussed over. He hated every second of this, as one of the men came with a cloth and he was tended to Hodgson, as the Captain went to go grab the journal. He came back after some time with that book, it’s well worn leather so familiar to him. He reached for it and was happy to have it in his hands once more. Crozier had also brought other things as well, his jacket, Jane’s scarf and his fingerless gloves. The jacket was laid over him, on top of the Navy issues blanket and the rest tucked into him.

“Can you rest for us now?” Crozier asked. He nodded, clutching the journal tighter. He closed his eyes, allowing the lull of sleep to take him over. He was so tired; sleeping now meant he wouldn’t sleep later, but he didn’t mind. He smiled thinking how his father would scold him at this mistake and staying up late. John Sr was not a man who liked late sleepers. He detested all forms of sloth, though Harry he thought he’d get an exception for once. His father was always so lenient when it came to sickness.

He had been jostled awake some time later, as the sled he was on was being pulled forward, but he quickly fell back asleep. Once asleep once more, he dreamt of dredging in Orkney and how good a spring sun felt on his skin. John and Edward’s laughter felt so real in his ears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stillness did not suit either of them.

If this is what dying looked like she wanted no part of it.

He was pale, bleeding and bruised. He had been one of the worst out the bunch, but unlike the rest this man was some how hanging onto life. They had buried a man a day ago who had been in better shape and yet he had perished first. He rarely woke and when he did it was only for short moments.

Silna brushed some hair from his forehead. She hadn’t before tried remembering names, she saw no point in doing so. To her, they had all been fleeting things and one day she'd forget them all. No point in remembering. Instead, she had gave them all nicknames, some had stuck, and others changed constantly. Harry had always been ‘curly-hair’ since the moment they met, one marine that had watched over he was ‘seal blubber’ for the odd resemblance he had to the animal, and this man she had met only once which she had called ‘ghost eyes’.

She wished he’d open his eyes so she could stare at them. She could never pinpoint if they were blue or grey. But this man she learned was called Jopson kept on sleeping.

And she kept sitting by him.

Waiting.

That’s all she did now. Waiting. She had fought the first couple of days, upon learning how Harry been tricked. Her anger for the situation had only grown when no one would go after him.

“He’s a doctor.” Aglooka had said in her tongue, haltering and not quite right. “He won’t be hurt.”

And now Aglooka was gone. Yesterday, the grey-haired one and miserable looking man (Vesconte and Little she remembered) had left with a small group of men to find him. And maybe find Harry. There had been some argument about those two heading off together, she had some understanding of the rank with the men. They were the two highest ranking officers next to Aglooka. The men had been afraid to lose not only their captain but lieutenant as well. Arguments had been laid to rest some how, and they set off.

Silna didn’t care enough to learn how it had been settled. Instead, she took to another sort of settling; into a role she knew well. _Angakkuit_ had to know how to heal and this had been something she was taught not by her father, but by another woman. It had been the only really moments of maternal love she had ever experienced; the thought of it made her chest hurt. She longed for something like that again, and now more than ever. As she tended to these men (who she had now decided didn’t deserve it, but only did so cause Harry would have) she realised how much she wanted to put this all down. Just drop everything that had been put onto her and run to someone. Anyone. Let someone better take up where she had left off and just do better.

She began to have nightmares. She woke up crying most mornings.

Silna stared at the sleeping man and felt something vicious rise up in her. They were at fault for her fate. Taking and taking till nothing was left. And more times than not she wanted to lash out. It was a terrible and impulsive thought that left her ashamed afterwards. She swallowed it down instead, like a bad taste in her mouth.

She didn’t know how long she sat there for; it wasn’t for Jopson’s wellbeing but rather a lack of motivation to do anything else. Eventually she heard a commotion outside, but she didn’t react. These men made a fuss about anything now that they had gained some strength back. Jopson stirred a little in sleep.

Someone entered the tent, but she didn’t turn to look. This man sat next to her and it was then she turned to look at him. Silna felt something come alive in her again when she saw it was Little.

He gave a small smile and then he looked to Jopson. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“Has anything changed with him.” He asked softly. For weeks she had pretended to not know English. Once she had finished fighting, she had gone mute again. It had frustrated the men, but Aglooka had left her to her own devices. Maybe he did it out of pity, or maybe exasperation, but really it didn't matter in the end.

She shook her head, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“No.” She said softly. Her voice, out of use, croaked and was rough. Her brain nearly forgot how to use the stub tongue she now had, and that single word had been more guttural than anything. He didn’t seem to mind. He instead leaned over Jopson and brush his hair gentle with exposed fingertips. It was a tender moment she felt awkward for witnessing. She had been with Jopson then, back when the other man was still alive, if barely. Little had done the same then, and Silna had pretended to not notice that a kiss had been pressed to Jopson’s bloodied forehead.

“Go outside.” Little said to her eventually. His voice was soft. “We brought them all back.”

That thing that had seemed to come alive in her? It now flourished. Pure joy.

“Harry.” She whispered, almost asking. He nodded in return and she darted out of the tent.

The sun blinded her for a moment, but she did not relent. Camp was small, most of the tents had been left on the first day and the boat they hauled was near ready to be throw away too. This made finding what she needed easy.

She saw Aglooka first, pale and tired and then she saw a face she hated to see. She could never remember his name, but he was less miserable looking and more vicious. Like a dog gone wrong. A dog with no bite however. She saw other faces that she recognised, the one man who had sided with Hickey and the other ranking man from Aglooka’s ship. She saw no signs of Harry.

Silna ran forward, and felt her breath catch in her chest. Aglooka noticed her quickly and waved to her. His smile meant more than any words. He wouldn’t smile to her if Harry was dead.

She gave him no time to speak when she was upon them. “Harry?” She asked. Her voice caught like her breath had and it nearly choked her. It hurt her throat, but she still asked. “Where?”

Aglooka said something to then men. His words were fast, but she could understand them enough. Take the two men, Tozer and Des Voeux (the name clicked in her head. She could remember it being even more foreign than all the others) into whatever command tent. She didn’t need to translate the rest to understand what would happen to them.

He touched her lightly on the back and led her to another tent, one that had been set up for her. She rarely slept in it. She saw Kenojuak outside it and smiled to him. His expression was worry. He blocked their path.

“ _I couldn’t find you._ ”

Silna shrugged. “ _I was with the sick man. In the tent._ ”

“ _They brought Iqisulik. Your white man._ ”

“ _I heard._ ”

It was then Kenojuak’s expression darkened and it sent her heart racing.

“ _He’s in a terrible way. It got him good. That what this one-_ “ He gestured to Aglooka. “­- _said._ ”

She looked past Kenojuak and to the tent. “ _He is-_ “

“ _In there. Yes._ ”

She shoved herself past him and into the tent.

The caribou skin made it hard for the light to shine in, but there was light enough to see. Silna was by his side in a heartbeat; kneeling beside him and trying to take in everything she had missed.

He was unbelievable pale, his dark hair and beard making him almost seem as white as snow. He had always had a rosy look to him that settled on his cheeks, but there was none of that. There was signs of a fever however.

And then there was the obvious.

Long gashes on his face.

“ _Kallik had them take the bandaging off._ ” Kenojuak said. Silna looked up to see this man, Kallik still in the tent. He had been one of the men to come along that had one of her father’s people. She had known him from the second she had been taken in by her father. His face was a reminder of her history. He gave her a tentative smile.

“ _The bandaging was bad._ ” He said. “ _I reopen some of the wounds to sew them shut again. They did a bad job with some of them._ ”

“ _We had been in a rush._ ” Aglooka spoke up. “Goodsir _was bleeding out._ ”

“ _We are leaving them open for now._ ” Kallik spoke, seemingly ignoring Aglooka. “ _Let them get some air to help with the healing._ ”

She nodded and said nothing. She just stared at his face.

He was asleep and she wanted nothing more than to shake him awake. He looked the same once she looked past the gashes, but she could not ignore them.

They covered most of the right side of his face, and it was a seemingly lucky swipe. If Tuunbaq had gone a little deeper he surely would be dead. She counted them, four long gashes with two going so far to reach his eyebrow. The other eyebrow had been cut some time ago, back when Tuunbaq had attacked the camp and he had come to her.

“I… I wish you could come to England and see for yourself. It’s not like we are here. People there are good.” He had told her back then. She had doubted the words, but for his sake she pretended they were true. She was supposed to find out now if there was reason to pretend still. He was going to take her there. Her turn to follow.

“ _I come with you. Let me follow you_.”

She wondered what his fate would had been if he hadn’t followed. There was a tightening feeling in Silna’s chest at the though; uncomfortable and unwanted. It felt like failure. She looked to Kallik and then to Kenojuak.

“ _Please leave me_.” She could feel tears forming. This wasn’t fair. “ _Please._ ”

She didn’t need to ask again. They left the tent, and so did Aglooka. She was alone with Harry,

It was eerie how this felt. It was almost like when he had gotten sick before. Harry had passed out on her and she had been scared. She didn’t want to bury him like she had seen happen to others. But he had gotten strong again, but before he did, he had slept. There hadn’t been a stillness to him then like there was now. He had moved in his sleep, woke, and was miserable in his sickness. Sure signs of being alive. Now, if not for the subtle way his chest moved, she be sure he was dead.

Stillness did not suit either of them.

She touched her own cheek, feeling the soft scar that was there too. She didn’t remember how she got it, but that it was there when she finally woke up with a mouth throbbing and smoke clinging to her.

They were matching now. The thought of it made her laugh softly, which then turned to tears.

None of this was fair.

 

-

 

He didn’t wake at all in the hours she sat by him. A few times her fellow Netsilik would come by to check on her, more times than not Kenojuak, but she did not budge.

At some point Aglooka had come by and sat by her. He had spoke a mixture of Inuktitut and English, explaining what had happened. He tried to be careful with his words when he explained how they took down Tuunbaq. It was only then she turned to him and hissed for him to leave.

Take and take.

Her father had once told her that a _Sixam Iuena_ was connected to Tuunbaq in spirit; when the creature was in distress, they could feel it. Spirit was important to her people, and Tuunbaq’s spirit even more important for the _Sixam Iuena_. And she felt nothing. No connection. No distress. No pain.

Silna shook, trying to hold in her tears, but ultimately failed. She sobbed, unashamed and pressed her face down into the furs that covered Harry. She supposed she should mourn, but really she just felt sorry for herself.

Everyone she had ever loved and was supposed to care for, she had failed. She had tried to drag her father away from the pale men they had come across, but he had pushed forward, insisting with quick fingers that they needed to warn them. That they needed to leave. She had practically felt that bullet when it had pierced him, as though they shared the same mind. Harry had been kind and soft with her, protecting her in the ways he could from cruel treatment. She should have gone with him when he had been tricked away. And now he was all, but dead. That hunting group, though she had no way of protecting them, she still felt as though she failed them. That little girl had a life before her and was cut short. Silna had never felt grief so pure then she had in that moment.

Tuunbaq was a mess that was she could not begin to sort through. From the very beginning she had failed. Looking back, far back when she was still so young she had never been suited for what had been expected of her. Her fears, her doubts. They had all stood in the way of what she had been told was her future. She should have done better. She should have been better. Tuunbaq’s death would have an effect on her people, they were connected to nature physically and spiritually; even the parts that seemed to negative. It was her fault.

This seemed to scream an end of times. A prophecy had once said that Tuunbaq would die at the hands of invaders and they would learn misery.

Silna wallowed in it now.

She had eventually fallen asleep once her tears had stopped and dried. She curled up beside Harry and hoped for a dreamless sleep. She didn’t deserve it, but it was already proven she was weak.

She got what she didn't deserve. The dream was odd but comforting; she dreamt of an expanse of what seemed like murky water till light shined down and it turned a brilliant blue. She could squish sand between her toes, enjoying how cool it felt. The air was warm around her. Silna felt overly happy and content. Safe. She could hear someone call to her, and at that she looked around to see no one. What she saw instead was a wall of rocks and flowers so pink they didn’t seem real. The voice called out some more.

She woke up, with a person kneeling by her. She rubbed her eyes quickly, getting the sleep out of them. It was Little again.

“The captain wanted me to check on you.” He said softly. He looked to Harry quickly, but said nothing.

Silna just stared up at him. She didn’t know what to say. Little seemed to crumble under this, not surprisingly. He always seemed a man in a state of nerves. 

“We’re going to clean up and continuing on. We can’t waste any time.”

She looked to Harry now. Unlike before, his face was more flushed, but it didn’t look healthy at all. She could see a sheen of sweat upon his forehead. The fever hadn't broke at all.

“He’s too sick.” She finally said.

“We’ll be careful. I’ll bring you some food.”

He left then, not waiting on a reply. She didn’t mind at. She moved closer to Harry to examine him. Placing a hand to his forehead, she could feel the heat coming off of him before she even made contact. A fever wasn’t good. Silna looked about, seeing if there was maybe some water that she could use to cool him. There was nothing. A thought crossed her mind; if they were moving soon, he’d be out in the cool air. Perhaps it would be good for him.

She moved her hand then to his cheek, pressing gently to the gashes. There were no signs of infection which was a relief. The signs instead pointed to that of healing, there was already scabbing taking place. Maybe it was a good thing he slept, the wound looked painful.

Once happy with the state of his face, she moved to start bandaging his face back up again. It was when she had moved her hand beneath his head, threading her fingers through his long hair, he stirred from sleep.

Silna froze. It was hard to pinpoint what exactly she was feeling as she waited with bated breath from him to wake some more, but whatever it was it was overwhelming. He let out a soft moan, and his eyes fluttered open. It was the barest thing, but it was enough to see that his right eye was bloodied and red. It was striking against his green eyes, and she gasped.

“Hello.” He whispered. It was a subtle thing, in the way he spoke and the way his gaze seemed for far away, but he seemed completely off. His voice was sounding just as bad as hers did. She couldn’t keep the smile off of her face however. She had missed that voice.

“ _Ilitannamek._ ” She replied back, her smile turning into a grin.

He gave a small smile, but it was enough to make him winch. She instinctively put her free hand to his chest, as though to steady him.

“I hurt myself.”

“I see.”

He hummed. “I missed you.” His words were more of a mumble, making it hard for her to pick up, but after a few seconds she got it.

“I miss you.”

He closed his eyes at that and took a deep breath. Everything seemed to lack energy, which concerned her. 

“ _I’m going to wrap your face okay?_ ” She asked, and eventually he hummed back. “ _Stay awake for me._ ”

Again, he hummed.

She was quick in getting his face covered as best as she could. When she was done, his breath had become steady and deep once more. There was no way Silna could have expected Harry to keep a promise like the one she asked. Not now. She smiled and brushed his hair from his forehead. He was still hot.

This would be enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angakkuit - Shaman  
> Sixam Iuena - Shaman to Tuunbaq  
> Ilitannamek - A greeting you give to someone very intimate/special

**Author's Note:**

> harrygoodsirs.tumblr


End file.
